


Nature and Nurture

by totallyarogue



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Adoption, Asgard (Marvel), Children, Domestic, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Service Dogs, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-19
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-04-05 04:49:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 18,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4166544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/totallyarogue/pseuds/totallyarogue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky and Steve are (barely) living together; Steve is getting tired trying to help Bucky and Bucky is trying to...well, Steve's not really sure, though the puppy does seem to help.</p><p>Then they find the 11 year old girl. Or maybe the girl finds them.</p><p>Alternatively: Loki's last scheme has had an unintended victim and he's the last damned person to let a child be abandoned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue (Empathy)

**Author's Note:**

> My first AO3 fanfic, my first MCU fanfic and my first fanfic in, like, a decade. C&C is **greatly** appreciated.
> 
> Ignores Age of Ultron.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> King Loki has a dream.

Loki, King of Asgard, Loki Liesmith, Loki Silvertongue, Loki the God of Lies, had everything he thought he ever wanted. 

To be fair, everyone else thought it was Odin, King of Asgard, but Loki was finding himself less likely to quibble these days; these days where he had everything he wanted. He was King, admired, respected, obeyed. He had the love of his brother, both as the benevolent king to send the prince to his beloved Midgard, and as himself, the brother who sacrificed himself for his family. 

Loki had power, had respect, had love. Isn't that everything he wanted?

Yes. Of course it was.

So what was that odd niggling at the back of his mind? It couldn't have been guilt. He was the God of Lies. He would be a useless creature, sniveling and weeping, if he allowed himself guilt. Perhaps there were things he regretted, twists he'd needed to take to get him where he was. Twists that he wished may have gone a different direction. He certainly longed for days past - days before he knew the horrid truth of his parentage, days when Odin didn't hate him, days when he and Thor loved one another without any lies or complications. 

Aye, Loki Laufeyson knew regret. But he had long since mastered it, accepting that his ends justified his means, all of them. He had mastered longing, understanding that even he didn't have the power to push back time's wheel, and the Norns were not enemies he wished to make. So what was the shadow that lurked in the back of his mind, that haunted behind his eyes when he tried to sleep?

The answer came to him in a dream, as most great portents do. 

In the dream, he watched himself. He was a young babe, the blue of Jotunheim, wailing in the snow where he'd been abandoned by his beast of a father. Wolves circled, a score or more of them, with eyes of fire and teeth slavering with hunger for his young flesh. The loneliness was nearly as painful as the fear; there was no mother to coddle him, no father to shield him. He was alone in the world and worse yet, he was prey for its monsters. He awoke just as he saw the distant outline of an Asgardian man in a winged helm, a black shadow in one socket of his eye. 

He always awoke before Odin could speak to him.

He was blue when he woke from the dream, the same nightshade as that wailing babe in the snow, and his breath was uneven, fast, frightened. The gasp of prey. He knew his answer, he knew what was haunting him. It wasn't exactly guilt, but it could nearly have been regret. It was empathy.

It was the girl.


	2. The Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve goes for a walk.

He and Bucky had been living together in Brooklyn for two months and Steve wasn't sure he, Bucky or Brooklyn itself was going to survive another two weeks, much less months. Twice they'd nearly been evicted: once due to noise complaints (nightly screaming, until they'd learned to soundproof Bucky's room) and once thanks to an unfortunate incident with a flashbang. Finally Pepper had helped Steve find a condo that was in a similar style to the old fashioned apartment he'd wanted to rent.

Almost nobody could understand why he'd even wanted to rent, much less in Brooklyn. He could have easily lived in the Avengers Tower since he wanted to be in New York. If he hadn't have wanted to live under the auspices of Tony Stark (which no one could really have blamed him for) then he could easily have bought a condo well before Pepper Potts needed to step a tasteful yet stylish heel into it.

Natasha, of course, was the one who understood right away. "Familiarity breeds remembrance," she'd phrased it when explaining to Pepper after they'd heard about the flashbang incident and Steve's pending eviction. 

Steve thought that being together in an apartment in the depths of Brooklyn would remind Bucky of when he _was_ Bucky Barnes, not...whomever he was now. Or _what_ ever, as he was more likely to put it, when Bucky actually felt like talking.

The condo was great, though that didn't surprise Steve; of course Pepper found a retro building, of course she found the perfect way to decorate it that didn't make Steve feel like he was in a Buck Rogers serial (a feeling he couldn't shake about the Avengers Tower no matter how many long nights he pulled there). When he'd come to her with his concerns about how a Homeowner's Association might feel about their (never only Bucky's, it was always _their_ ) peculiarities, Pepper had given him her gentle smile and assured him the HOA was primarily Stark employees who'd be willing to cut Captain America and his best friend some slack. 

Steve didn't ask any more questions, though a few months ago he'd have badgered her to find out if she'd gone out of her way to purchase the building and fill it with her employees. But now, after everything else, he was just too tired. Too tired of long nights awake, knowing in the next room his best friend was screaming himself hoarse. Too tired of fighting about how often Bucky needed to eat, and what he needed to be eating. Too tired of arguing over shaving, over showering, over dozens of tiny things that no one else had to think twice about. 

The puppy had helped, he had to admit, so much that he never minded when he had to be the one to take her for a walk because Bucky couldn't deal with the crowds of hipsters on the streets of their neighborhood, as Steve was doing now. Marlene was a German Shepard mix, selected because of how much she'd reminded both he and Bucky of the squad dogs that sometimes trucked around with the Commandos. She had that same sense of duty about her even though she wasn't yet a year old. Steve realized quickly that the puppy program for soldiers with PTSD that Sam had gotten Bucky into was very similar in mindset as the training program for squad dogs. Bucky reminded Steve of a bomb a lot of the time, anyway, primed and ready to blow.

Marlene pulled at her leash and whined quietly, which immediately pulled Steve from his thoughts and put him on high alert. He realized after a belated moment that his level of alert was too high for a sunny summer afternoon in Brooklyn and the puppy's gentle whine and that maybe Bucky wasn't the only human bomb he knew. 

He took a deep breath, in and out, like Banner had suggested, and calmed. He glanced around for what was making the puppy act up. He blinked when he saw the girl, set up with an old suitcase just at the mouth of an alley.

She couldn't have yet been a teenager, maybe 11 or 12, younger than most of the street kids that habitually hung out in the neighborhood. Her hands moved quickly over the battered suitcase, moving paper cups with great speed. As a lifetime New Yorker (with the exception of those 70 years spent as the longest term resident of the Arctic), Steve immediately recognized the shell game with some amusement. He didn't see that played often any more and judging by the hipsters gathered around the girl's suitcase-table, it wasn't nearly as popular for street hustlers any more.

Marlene tugged at the leash again, yearning towards the girl, and Steve let her lead, bemused by both dog and young girl. He got closer and his amusement faded, noting the girl's smudged skin, ragged clothing and too-thin frame. He caught her patter, though, and had to admire the girl’s skill.

"I don't got no shells but I do got a pearl, all shiny and white, it's under here somewhere. Just keep your eye on the pearl, sir, and maybe it'll be your pearl next. Left, right, center, which cup's gonna be the clam that's hiding that pretty pretty pearl?" The patter flowed and so did the girl's small hands, lifting and shifting the cups, too fast to show much but a glimpse of the white pearl. 

Finally the girl threw her hands up with a flourish and gave a crooked grin at the young man with thick glasses and half his head shaved. The young man pointed at the leftmost cup and the girl's face fell. The young man noted her expression and began to smile broadly, but as soon as she lifted the cup there was nothing underneath to see and their expressions reversed.

"But I saw..." he trailed off, then huffed and shook his head. 

"They can't all be winners, sir, but that's gambling," the girl counseled with a tut. "Double or nothing?"

"Not again!" The young man groused and Steve noticed the stack of bills already shoved hastily into the girl's pocket. "I'm out."

As the crowd thinned away with no more suckers to take in, the girl settled back on her haunches and started to count her winnings. Steve moved a little closer, led by the eager puppy.

"It's actually oysters that have pearls," he said mildly, letting Marlene sniff the edge of the suitcase.

The girl didn't look up as she replied, too engrossed in her counting. "What do I know from clams and oysters? Who cares, anyway?"

"I guess it doesn't really matter when that pearl's probably never seen the ocean," Steve agreed, grinning despite himself. Though he was worried about the girl, she helped take him back to another time, a time when he and Bucky both had lost plenty of cash to similar hustlers.

The girl looked up with narrowed eyes, but as soon as she saw the puppy, the expression on her face changed to one of childish joy. Steve felt his heart thump in his chest at the expression - he knew that street wary look all too well, and the fact that something as simple as a puppy could make it go away did something to him, made him all warm. Bucky would probably tease him for being too sentimental. Well, Bucky would have a long time ago. 

Now he'd probably just go back in his room and lock the door behind him.

"Can I pet her?" The girl asked with a quick glance between Steve and Marlene, already holding out her hand, palm up and fingers stretched, for the puppy. Before Steve could answer, Marlene was sniffing her fingers with great interest.

"Yeah, sure. Her name's Marlene," Steve answered, studying this interaction. Marlene liked people but usually with restraint since even though she was a puppy, she took her job as Bucky's (and to a lesser extent, Steve's) therapy dog seriously. But she was unusually excited about the girl, licking her hand as the girl rubbed behind her ears (one sticking up, the other not there quite yet) with her other hand.

"Hi Marlene," the girl said smiling as her hand was excitedly licked. "Marlene, you're a good girl. Good dog."

"I'm Steve," he introduced himself, already starting to try and figure out the best way to move forward. He didn't want to make any assumptions about why the girl was on the street - he'd known plenty of kids who’d run away, had put up a few of them on cold Brooklyn nights back in the '40s. Bucky'd come home from working at the shop to find a boy with a swollen shiner or a girl with the tell-tale welts from a belt across her body and he'd start making them soup. 

Steve was the one who'd find the kids to help, but Bucky was the one who really knew how to nurture. How to care. Steve knew it better than anybody, since he was the one Bucky cared the most about. He thought maybe this was why Marlene helped nowadays. While putting kibble in the dog’s bowl wasn't the same as stitching up a kid's bust lip or scrounging up bus fare to send some youngster to their aunt in Akron, it was a good first step.

The girl glanced up from Marlene, some of the youthful enthusiasm fading from her face. Steve didn't blame her. He was a big, he was a stranger, he was being what she probably thought as unduly friendly. It hurt to see the wary expression back on her young face, but he understood it.

"...I'm Ash," she allowed, using a free hand to shove the bills she'd been counting much deeper into her well-worn hoodie's pocket. 

"Do you want me to grab you some lunch, Ash?" Steve asked, glancing around the street for a market or cafe - Brooklyn was overflowing with them now, though Steve didn't really consider a place that served 'pickled huckleberry gremolata' to be an acceptable place to eat, which was something Pepper was trying to fix at any given opportunity. 

"With you?" she asked, the suspicion growing on her face and now into her voice. Steve raised his hand, Marlene's leash dangling.

"No, no, you don't have to go anywhere with me, if you don't wanna," he assured, not letting his smile slip. He considered for a moment, hoping she'd take it as a friendly smile, not a threatening one. He remembered what it was like to be small in a very large world. "How about I go grab something and bring it back? You probably don't want to lose your spot." He’d already noted the smartly chosen location, just far enough off the path not to attract unwanted attention, but central enough to grab unsuspicious marks.

Ash thought this over with a long hesitation, then nodded slowly. She came out from behind her suitcase, Marlene following closely at her side, tail wagging, and offered her hand.

"Okay, deal," Ash said, firmly. Steve shook her hand with care; her hand felt so small in his grasp. He turned, waving over his shoulder.

"I'll find us something good," he promised and Marlene gave a little whine as they walked away.

When he got to a little bodega a few blocks away, he discovered his wallet was missing. When he went back to Ash's spot, he discovered the girl was missing as well.


	3. Judge of Character

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~~Bucky~~  
>  no  
>  ~~The Winter Soldier~~  
>  no  
>  ~~the asset~~  
>  no  
>  _He_ goes for a walk.

He was being followed and for once he was actually relieved because of it.

He didn’t usually go out very often. Usually just to walk the dog or make a short excursion to the corner store, mostly to reassure Steve that he wasn’t agoraphobic. He wasn’t sure that was true - he really didn’t _want_ to go out. Fear was a large part of it; he hated to be in the open, to be vulnerable, to have a target painted on his back. He was constantly expecting whatever was left of Hydra to come for him, after all.

But it wasn’t _just_ fear of the open vulnerability of any place outside that made him dislike going out. He was frightened of what he could _do_ in those places that were beyond his soundproofed walls and triple-locking doors. At night he woke with his fingers twitching like he should be holding knives. He’d once put Steve in a chokehold for not announcing himself soon enough when Steve had come up from behind him. And there was, of course, the incident with the flashbang that’d nearly gotten them homeless.

All and all, it just seemed wrong for him to be out of the condo. To be walking around like he was some kind of free man and not...whatever he actually was. _Who_ ever he was, Steve would correct him.

It was obvious how sure Steve was about _who_ the man was, but he himself wasn’t so sure. Bucky Barnes? The Winter Soldier? It’d taken six weeks of heavy medication just for him to stop referring to himself as ‘the asset’ in conversations.

He tried hard not to slip up on that one because though Steve had at some point in time picked up some superb acting skills (there was something with chorus girls, wasn’t there? In the hazy spaces of his memory he could almost make out painted-on stockings, bright red lipstick and a song), the big blond still couldn’t hide the look of hurt in his ridiculously guileless blue eyes when he heard that phrase.

The man sometimes called The Winter Soldier wasn’t sure of much anymore, but he was sure he didn’t like to see hurt in Steve Rogers’s eyes.

So it was a relief, as he slowly walked Marlene down the Brooklyn sidewalk, that he was being followed because this time, _this time_ , he wasn’t just being paranoid. Usually when he thought he was being followed, he’d circle the block at least four times, pausing to hide in increasingly difficult spots so he could catch his trail unawares. There was, of course, never actually any trail, and there’d been a few times where he’d worked himself into a panic attack when there was never anyone to catch. But today not only was he positive he wasn’t being paranoid, he’d had the trail marked for the last ten minutes and even in his possibly-agoraphobic, definitely-paranoid state, he knew she wasn’t Hydra or SHIELD or anything other than maybe a pickpocket.

He pegged her at maybe 11 years old and definitely a street kid. She moved too carefully for a kid her age, not to mention her clothing was well worn, her sneakers patched with duct tape. She was a little too thin, he noted, studying her in the reflection of the mirrored building he was using to keep an eye on her.

Steve had off-handedly mentioned being pickpocketed a few days ago, so ~~the asset~~ \- _no_ \- ~~Bucky~~ \- _no_ \- **he** wondered if there was a small time ring of thieves moving into the area. He vaguely remembered a much smaller Steve Rogers smacking his hand when he reached for an unguarded wallet a lifetime ago and wondered why he’d wanted (needed?) to steal.

Finally he pulled to a halt at an empty bus shelter, ducked inside and put his back to the wall. Marlene gave a puzzled whine; she could always tell when he was having a panic attack or otherwise having a problem, but he was far too calm this time. He gave her a reassuring rub behind the ears (was that left ear ever gonna stick up to match the other one?) and waited.

Eventually his shadow ducked into the bus shelter with him, overacting just how supremely uninterested in him she was. She looked everywhere but him until Marlene gave a bark, surprising both child and man.

“Oh hey,” the girl said, overly casual as she finally looked at the dog. “She’s, uh, cute. Can I…?”

He was still surprised at Marlene’s behavior but the way she was wagging her tail with anticipation while looking at the child made him stay calm. Marlene hadn’t been wrong about anything so far. She was dependable, maybe the most dependable thing in his life. That was probably one of those things he shouldn’t say around Steve.

“Yeah,” he replied to the child shortly. He inclined his head slightly, which kept his face shadowed by his hair as he prefered and also let him study the girl more closely.

She smiled as she offered out her hand to Marlene, palm up and fingers slightly curled, he noted with approval. She had long, fair hair mostly shoved up under a slouchy cap that was too warm for the weather and the pockets of her ratty, oversized hooded sweatshirt bulged with what were probably all of her belongings. He didn’t see any bruises or other signs of mistreatment except for the fact that she was too thin and she moved warily, but if you listened to Steve, _Bucky_ was too thin and he knew he moved warily, so it could be hard to tell.

Marlene seemed to like her, not hesitating to lick the offered hand, tail wagging like she’d known the girl her whole (admittedly short) life. The girl was murmuring praise to the puppy which he couldn’t help but approve of as well - it was hard not to like people who appreciated Marlene, since Marlene was _obviously_ the best dog ever to exist.

“...you were too casual,” he finally said, which made the girl look up with a blink. She had pale eyes, he noted, slate gray.

“I was what?” She asked with a frown, studying him about as strenuously as he’d studied her in the mirrored building while she was following him.

He shrugged and motioned with his one hand, making Marlene’s leash sway. “There’s nobody else in here. I’m a one armed guy with the most adorable puppy to ever been born. It’s more natural to at least look my way, then look away all embarrassed for starin’ at the cripple. Instead you looked everywhere  _but_ me and Marlene.”

The girl’s eyes widened when he spoke and she glanced at the dog with an odd expression that he couldn’t decipher. Still, she didn’t run.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to say ‘cripple,’” she answered, still petting the dog.

“Not if I was talkin’ about somebody else, but it’s my stump. I can say what I want about it,” he said, waving said stump around so his pinned up sleeve fluttered. He’d been refusing Steve’s increasingly serious offers to go to the Avengers Tower and check out the upgraded version of the Winter Soldier’s arm that Stark had made. He’d also been refusing Potts’s increasingly generous offers to have a new, more natural-seeming prosthetic constructed for him. Sure, some ( _most_ ) days the hand that wasn’t there burned with pain but it was  _his_ pain. _His_ choice. There was something deeply satisfying about that.

“Oh,” the girl answered hesitantly, then nodded. “That makes sense, I guess. Like somebody can call themselves dumb and laugh, but if I do it, I get yelled at.”

“Yeah, like that,” Bucky agreed gruffly. “...people yellin’ at you?” He wanted to ask if that’s why she wouldn’t look at him when she came into the shelter, but if that were true, why come in at all? He glanced down as Marlene tugged on her leash to get closer to the girl.

“I mean, sometimes, I guess,” the girl hedged, ducking her head and trying to pay more attention to the dog than the man. “Everybody gets yelled at sometimes.”

“Nah,” Bucky shook his head with a dawning realization. He was pretty sure he had it figured out now and was deeply amused. “But it’s a risk you take when you’re stealin’ from folks, right?”

The girl looked up with wide eyes and took a step back, nearly tripping over herself. She looked about ready to bolt away but Marlene whined pathetically as only a neglected puppy can do. Bucky held up his hand.

“It’s alright. I’m kinda impressed. You stole my roommate’s wallet, right? Big blond guy, has the All-American smile?” Bucky asked and was a little surprised to feel his lips almost turn upwards in a smile.

Steve hadn’t mentioned he’d been pickpocketed by a child. Bucky was maybe never going to let him live it down. But it made sense, with the puppy’s familiarity with the girl and the girl’s care in making sure she didn’t seem  _too_ interested in them.

“I didn’t take nobody’s wallet,” she replied defensively, looking swiftly between Marlene and Bucky but her voice quavered unconvincingly.

“Aw, c’mon,” Bucky cajoled. “If I was pissed, wouldn’t I be yellin’?”

“...I don’t got any of the cash left,” the girl muttered with a shrug, looking down. What of her long hair wasn’t shoved under her hat fell over her face and Bucky felt something odd twist in his chest seeing the girl do the same thing that he usually did in order to hide.

“I got cash,” he replied with a shrug. “So’s my roommate. I don’t want the wallet back.”

The girl peered up at him through her hair, eyes wary but no longer panicked.

“What do you want?” she asked nervously and Bucky had to take a slow, deep breath at the tone in her voice because he really wanted to kill whoever’d made such a little girl so scared of people.

_He_ was scared of people. He knew fear. Knew exactly what people could do, the absolute and utter worst of it. But at least he had the skills to try and protect himself and most importantly now he had the freedom to use them. He had guns and knives and Captain fuckin’ America. The girl looked like a strong wind would knock her down.

“For you to keep playin’ with Marlene. She’s been a handful. Needs somebody to tire her out and I’m done,” he said, which wasn’t entirely honest. Marlene was energetic like any puppy, but too well-trained to be a real handful.

Plus, he’d play with Marlene 24 hours a day if he could. He never got tired of her and it was nice to have somebody who never got tired of him. Not that Steve got tired of him. Steve just got tired.

The girl inched back forward with a cautious look but then exhaled and knelt back down to the puppy when she realized he wasn’t going to leap off the shelter’s bench. “You  _really_ aren’t pissed?” she asked with some disbelief as Marlene licked at her hands.

Bucky shook his head and leaned back against the shelter’s wall again. He braced his shoulders and arched his back, relishing in the pops and cracks that followed. Stretching was one of his simplest but greatest pleasures - he thought maybe it had to do with the knowledge that he’d never get trapped in cryofreeze ever again.

“Nah. I pinched wallets when I was your age,” he said, then snorted. “When Steve wasn’t around.”

“Why?” she asked curiously while Marlene finally threw herself down on the ground for belly rubs.

“We were poor but he’s…” Bucky trailed off. There were a lot of words to describe Steve then and Steve now. “...honest to a fault.” He realized that his words were true as he spoke them, the haze of his memory giving up shreds of the past: the poverty, Steve’s troublesome honesty.

“He said he wanted to buy me lunch, but I got scared he was gonna go get somebody,” she admitted. She never ceased giving the puppy attention and Bucky wasn’t sure Marlene had ever been happier.

“I get it. But he wasn’t. Probably was gonna get you lunch then see if he could help you out at all. That’s the kinda thing he does,” Bucky explained and realized this might have been the most he’d spoken in one sitting to anyone who wasn’t Steve in...a much longer time than he was comfortable thinking about.

“Help people?” She asked skeptically.

“Yeah,” Bucky answered with a raised eyebrow. “What, you think everybody’s shit? I get that, considerin’, but do you think somebody so shitty could have a pup like Marlene? She’s the best judge of character I ever seen.”

The girl smiled involuntarily and Bucky felt something in his chest twist the other way this time. She looked like a kid, like what Bucky remembered kids  _should_ look like. It was a good change. A satisfying one.

“...yeah, okay, I guess,” she finally admitted. “I’m Ash.”

He hesitated, but only for a moment, and offered her his only hand. “Bucky.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tags on this will probably change a couple of times until it's finished as I iron stuff out.


	4. Sandwiches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky brings a friend home for lunch.
> 
> Alternatively: Steve tries very hard not to show just how big of a sap he is.

Steve came home to a sound he didn't expect to hear: Bucky's voice.

Steve never got used to the silence in their home. He always thought of it as a painful silence, so pronounced that it was almost loud. He associated silent homes with pain, with death, with loss; when his mother had gotten sick, their little cheap apartment grew quiet. She stopped talking to herself while doing housework, stopped singing in Irish, stopped yelling to him in the next room over. The silence of that little apartment was only punctuated by the wracking sounds of her cough, and eventually even that stopped when she died and Steve was left alone.

It was Bucky who had broken the silence back then, who practically had forced himself through the dingy apartment's door and made himself at home. The Bucky then was loud and boisterous. He'd always had a story to tell and even though Steve had heard every single one of Bucky's stories too many times to count (and was _there_ for most of them), it never mattered. It wasn't the story that mattered, it was the telling. He couldn't remember how many nights he'd fallen asleep to the sound of Bucky's voice, to the sound of his laughter. He dreamed of it, even now.

He usually just made due with the dreams now, because in this day, after the decades as the Winter Soldier, Bucky didn't even sound the same. He didn't act the same, of course, but that Steve could deal with, had to deal with, did deal with. It was how changed his best friend's voice was that got under his skin, that wormed its way into his heart and made him go through Stark's stock of punching bags on a near daily basis.

Bucky's voice now was soft and quiet, like he didn't have permission to speak at a normal level. Like he wasn't allowed to use the air to make words that Bucky'd once taken such pride in and Steve had taken such comfort from. It was Bucky who first told him "'Til the end of the line," after all, a sentence Steve repeated to his friend on a daily basis, hoping with every inch of optimism he could muster that one day Bucky would realize how true it was.

So when he walked through their front door and heard Bucky's voice from the living room, his heart nearly burst from his chest and his stomach tightened in anxious excitement. Steve kicked off his heavy boots - an old rule of his mother's that he'd never shaken, no work books in the house - and tread down the hall into the living room, letting the sound of Bucky's voice lead him.

 "...they read body language better'n most people, see," Bucky was explaining in his hoarse voice to the enraptured child sitting on the opposite end of the couch from him. They were both looking at Marlene, who was sitting at attention on the floor, her keen brown eyes stuck on the sandwiches the girl and Bucky had in hand.

Steve recognized the girl - Ash. The pickpocket from the shell game a few days ago. He had no idea why she was here or why Bucky was talking to her about dogs but the fact they both had sandwiches in hand made him feel light headed.

Usually when it came to food Bucky refused to prepare anything for himself. Steve knew that Hydra had only fed him nutrient supplements and some kind of gruel. In fact, the first time he'd seen Stark drink his usual disgusting green shake, Bucky had had to leave the room or risk a panic attack.

Meals were a struggle. Steve never minded cooking - liked it, actually. It reminded him of when he and Bucky lived together. Steve didn't - couldn't - work as many hours as Bucky did, so he'd make sure to always have a meal ready when Bucky got home, all greasy and tired. Knowing his best friend had one less thing to worry about in their situation made all the housewife jokes worth it, made the cuts on his fingers stop hurting, made him feel like there actually was something he could do for Bucky despite how his body limited him in almost everything else.

But now, no matter what he cooked, it was a battle just to get Bucky to touch his plate. Steve found himself occasionally repeating things he remembered his mother admonishing him with during the Depression - people starving in the Dustbelt, children forced to boil shoe leather.

So to see that Bucky not only made sandwiches for himself and Ash, but was eating without complaint...Steve had to stop himself from leaping over the back of the couch and giving the girl a handshake, a hug and a medal of commendation. Instead he studied the scene from the doorway, holding his breath in fear of disturbing the most normal situation he'd ever seen in their living room.

"So that's why you said she's a good judge of character?" Ash asked curiously, her mouth full of ham and cheese.

Bucky nodded and tugged off a crust of his sandwich, offering it to Marlene, who sniffed it first before daintily tugging it off his palm. This was completely not allowed but Steve wasn’t going to call him on it. Or maybe anything ever again. So long as he kept actually _eating_.

“Second best judge of character I've ever known,” he agreed.

“Are you the first?” Ash asked with a big swallow. Steve realized he was glad she was eating, too - her hoodie was laying across an arm of the sofa and without it on he could see just how thin she was, wearing a threadbare tee-shirt.

Bucky snorted and though it wasn't a laugh, it was the closest to one that Steve had heard from him in over seventy years.

“Kid, I don’t even make the top twenty. Him, though...” Bucky trailed off with a backwards nod and Steve realized Bucky had known he was inside, probably from the moment his hand touched the doorknob. Ash looked over sharply with wide eyes and started to stand up.

Steve raised his hand and gave an easy smile, the easiest smile he’d given in ages. He crossed the room and sat in the overstuffed recliner that no one had touched since Pepper had given it to them.

“Ain't nice to lie to kids,” Steve said with a snort of his own. Brooklyn always made itself home in his voice when he was around Bucky. “I’m too much of a sucker for pretty eyes and a nice smile.”

Ash subsided back onto the sofa, her wary expression easing. She shot Bucky a look, but he did nothing but raise his eyebrow back at her and lift a shoulder in a lopsided shrug.

“...I’m sorry I stole your wallet, Mister Steve,” the girl apologized. Steve appreciated that it wasn't a begrudging apology, just a shy and careful one.

“You can just call me Steve. And thanks, but it’s alright. Bucky used to try and do the same thing when he was around your age,” Steve grinned, glancing at Bucky. The man was silent again but at least it was because he’d taken a bite of sandwich. He didn't meet Steve’s eyes.

“Yeah,” Ash answered, relaxing further. “He said you always stopped him.”

Steve’s eyes widened and he stared at Bucky a little longer before he remembered he was supposed to answer. Bucky had remembered that? Bucky had remembered something? “Did he tell you I only managed to stop him ‘bout half of the time and that the other half of the time he was bringin’ me home medicine with his ill-gotten gains?”

Bucky continued not to meet his eyes, though he swallowed and took another bite of the sandwich. Steve thought maybe that bite was a little more forceful and did his absolute best not to grin like an idiot, as much as he felt like it.

“ _Medicine_ ?” The girl ask skeptically, eyeing Steve’s decidedly healthy physique.

“Yeah. I was sick a lot when I was a kid,” Steve answered, finally managing to tear his eyes away from Bucky’s appetite.

“He’s why you should eat vegetables,” Bucky interjected quietly. He said it with such a straight face and level voice that Steve almost missed that he’d made a joke.

“You don’t wanna see the vegetables I find,” Ash replied with a shudder, sticking out her tongue.

Steve frowned at the girl. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I try and get ‘em out of the trash after the street market closes up, but they’re usually all bruised up and mushy--” Ash began, then stopped herself. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat and shoved another bite of sandwich in her mouth.

“How long have you been by yourself?” Steve asked, keeping his voice gentle but not pitying. It was a blunt question but better than the dozens of much more angry questions he had about the people that let a pre-teen girl end up homeless.

Ash shrugged, still uncomfortable. “A couple of months, I guess.”

“What happened, kid?” Bucky asked, finally, wiping the crumbs from his hand onto his pants leg. “How’d you end up on the street?”

The girl was quiet for so long that Steve wasn't sure she was going to answer. Her eyes were everywhere but either of the men. Finally she bowed her head low so that her long hair hung over her eyes, hiding her face. Steve recognized the motion as something Bucky did far too often and it made his stomach sink.

“I don’t remember,” she finally whispered. “I don’t remember _anything_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading so far! This is turning out to be a blast to write. 
> 
> For as much as I adore Captain America, Steve's voice is surprisingly hard to find. Hopefully he sounds like himself.


	5. Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and ~~Bucky~~ have something that's almost a conversation.
> 
> Alternatively: The more things change, the more they stay the same when it comes to Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes.

The silence stretched long between the two men, but what else was new?

It wasn’t that he _liked_ the silence. He hated it. It reminded him of the deep freezing, the silence of the room where he was ‘ re-calibrated’ (the asset was a tool, so it wasn’t _brainwashed_ , it was  _re-calibrated_ ), of the busted up warehouses he’d take shelter in before Steve and Sam found him.

It was that the silence was _easier_. Breaking the silence was a little bit like going outside - he was scared of what a conversation might do to him but even more scared of what he might _do_ a conversation with Steve. Every time he thought about speaking, the pressure built. Would whatever he said finally make Steve realize that his best friend died falling from a train in 1945 and this man sitting across from him was just a pre-programmed _thing_ wearing Bucky Barnes’s face no better than a Lon Chaney mask?

It wasn’t that he ever felt that pressure from Steve. Steve wasn’t looking for Bucky Barnes in him. The pressure came from inside, because he found himself wanting very hard not to let Steve down. He wasn’t sure _why_ , exactly, but he knew it was the same reason he pulled Captain America from the Potomac before the river water filled up his lungs.

It was true that Steve was happy when he remembered something, _anything_. He’d grinned like a madman for a full day when ‘Bucky’ remembered only the vaguest impressions of a baseball game: the taste of cheap popcorn, the sun beating down overhead, the crack of a ball against a wooden bat. Steve assured him it was a Dodgers game and had spent almost two hours railing against Los Angeles and enthusing about the current state of American baseball, which, he happily told ‘Bucky,’ was undergoing a renaissance.

But Steve never pushed him to remember, never asked or prodded or even hinted. Steve was, to ~~Bucky’s~~ constant surprise, only ever pushy about the present and the future. Steve wanted him to eat, though his stomach twisted at the thought of solid food most of the time, rebelling against meals denied to him for so long. Steve wanted him to go outside, to be around people, to _talk_. Steve wanted him to be a person again, but the problem was that he wanted to be the person that Steve probably REALLY wanted him to be. He lived in constant terror of the day when Steve realized that was impossible and gave up on him.

So when the silence stretched like this, it was easier for him to not try and break it, and face the inevitable disappointment that Steve hadn’t shown yet, but was sure to. Any day now.

Steve sighed, finally. He glanced towards the closed door of his bedroom. Ash had fallen asleep after her story had poured forth from her in awkward, hesitant pauses and painful admissions. There were a few tears, but less than either of them would have expected from the girl, considering.

“I guess tomorrow I’ll see if Hill can start looking into it. Maybe find some of her records,” Steve said softly with a frown.

~~Bucky~~ didn’t reply, instead glanced at the closed door as well. Marlene laid sadly in front of it, her floppy ear nearly falling over her eye. She noticed him looking at her and gave a little whine. The puppy seemed as tired as the rest of them.

Steve continued like the silent man had actually replied. “She could have been hurt during the Chitauri invasion, maybe. Wandered away from her family.”

He reflected on that possibility while Ash’s strained voice echoed in his ears.

_ “I just...I woke up. A couple of months ago. I was under a bridge, and I was all by myself, and and and--” _

_ She was breathing fast, trying hard not to cry. Steve moved to the couch, knelt in front of her and took her hand. The girl stiffened at the contact but she seemed to find Steve’s concentrated aura of comfort reassuring enough to continue. _

_ “...and I didn’t know  _ anything _. I mean, I guess I knew math and stuff, whatever. My name, though, that’s the only thing I remembered about  _ me _.” _

“...where’s she gonna stay?” Bucky asked suddenly, his worn voice cutting through the silence but not muting the girl’s voice in his mind.

“I guess if we can’t find her family, we’ll find her a foster home. That’s what they do with kids, now,” Steve answered with a distant expression and Bucky thought that Ash’s voice, or maybe her trembling hand, was in the hero’s mind as well. “I don’t think they have orphanages like when we were kids. Not sure.”

“That’s shit,” Bucky said with enough firmness that Steve’s eyes cleared and he looked over, surprised. Bucky continued, voice staying as firm, though quiet as usual. “We got a spare room.”

“You want her to stay with us?” Steve asked and Bucky didn’t think his surprised state was going to go away anytime soon. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. We’re not exactly, uh…stable. I mean, with...everything going on.”

Bucky knew exactly what Steve met and felt his face twisting into a glower. He didn’t like the expression, but it was the first expression he’d developed when the Hydra drugs started wearing away and slowly his free will was restored. So it was _his_ damned expression and he was gonna use it.

“She likes the dog,” Bucky replied gruffly, like it was reason enough to do everything up to and including putting the girl through college. Thinking about it, maybe it was.

Steve stared at him and while the surprise wasn’t moving out in the near future, there was also a look of consideration. Through the shroud of his memory, Bucky saw a similar expression on a much smaller and much younger Steve Roger’s face. There was something between them - a bird. A pigeon. One of New York’s aerial rats. Its wing was injured and wrapped in one of their kerchiefs. Bucky held it between his hands gently and Steve’s voice resounded in his memory through the decades. _“We’ll haveta hid it from Ma until it’s better. Lemme think of somethin’.”_

“Tonight’s okay, it’s too late to wake her up anyway,” Steve said softly, looking to the door again. “Let me look up some stuff about foster homes and tomorrow I’ll talk to Sam. See what he says. Okay, pal?”

The scowl eased and while Bucky didn’t feel like his face was showing any pleasure, he thought that maybe it was softer. He wanted to tell Steve how weirdly content it made him feel that the man hadn’t changed much from the boy, despite the serum’s gifted size, despite the decades, despite the ridiculous scope of responsibility Steve had thrust himself into. But Bucky didn’t have the words for that.

Instead he just nodded and whistled for the dog.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve is correct about American baseball and also the Los Angeles Dodgers.


	6. Heroes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve has a way of constantly surprisingly Sam Wilson, who really should be used to this by now.

Steve liked to think he didn’t have many bad habits. He’d had to live clean before the serum; his lungs weren’t strong enough to handle smoke, drinking made his sensitive stomach revolt or put him straight to sleep. The army had bred the rest out of him. It was easy to stay tidy when all your worldly possessions fit into one footlocker and you were moving camp every few days. He even swore rarely thanks to the time spent kissing babies and signing things for kids during his chorus girl days - he kept that in mind even now, when kids were playing with plastic Captain America shields and action figures.

So Steve didn’t try very hard to break one of his last bad habits, even though he knew it drove the rest of the Avengers and by proxy, people like Maria Hill and Pepper Potts, completely insane.

See, Steve embraced the internet with more interest than anybody expected him to, but for all the wrong reasons. After waking up from a seven decade sleep, the internet was by far the best tool for catching up with the world. The problem was he didn’t just use the internet as a quick reference tool. He would delve into a topic online for hours, reading _especially_ any type of forum, message board or anecdotal experience.

Natasha guessed it was due to a sense of betrayal by the media - not that newspapers weren’t corrupt in Steve’s day, they were just so much more _obviously_ biased, now. Who could Steve trust but his fellow men and women? Pepper, in reply, said that was all well and fine, but Steve had called her four times between 2 and 3am with concerns about Homeowners’ Associations thanks to internet horror stories. Steve, who’d listened to his friends talk about him like he wasn’t there, didn’t interject because Natasha wasn’t wrong, yeah, but _neither was the internet_.

So then, after (what he was thinking optimistically as) his conversation with Bucky, Steve just didn’t bother to go to sleep. As soon as Bucky vanished into his room like he usually did when he started to get tired (and as Tony phrased it ‘hella squirrelly’), Steve took out his Starkpad™ and started researching the current state of the foster system in America. He didn’t stop until the sun was up, the birds were singing and he felt utterly gutted and hollowed out.

Anecdotal stories about the foster system weren’t, generally, very pleasant reading. The idea of throwing Ash into this system made him feel how he did before the serum: weak and powerless, that despite his best efforts he couldn’t do anything to make a _real_ difference. It was similar to how he felt after Bucky fell from the train or when he stood in Times Square with Nick Fury telling him the war’d been won for 70 years.

So he did what he always did when he didn’t know what else to do: he called Sam Wilson.

"I guess…” Sam was a little out of breath and when Steve realized what time it was, he figured Sam was likely on his morning run. “I oughta be glad you called me at a passibly reasonable hour instead of like what you did with Miz Potts.”

Steve sighed, knowing he deserved what he got for that, admittedly, ridiculous reaction. “Yeah, well. This’s actually way worse.”

Sam didn’t reply for a moment and Steve hoped it was just a hard run, but the tone in Sam’s voice when he did finally reply was definitely one of caution. “Man, I do not like it when you start off a conversation that way. Is Bucky…”

“...Bucky’s fine,” Steve said hurriedly. “I mean, he’s not...fine. He’s...you know. But he’s not worse. He’s actually...”

Better. Bucky was better. Not for long, just since he’d brought Ash home, but it was one of the biggest jumps of ‘better’ that Steve had seen since he and Sam had found the Winter Soldier half-starved and going through withdraws from Hydra’s drugs in a filthy warehouse in Vladivostok.

The story came out of Steve quickly: the homeless girl, the pickpocketing, Bucky making food and eating it, Ash’s lack of memories, Bucky’s concern for the girl’s future. He even mentioned how much Marlene liked the girl, a little desperately. He realized he sounded a little bit like when his Ma had found the pigeon he and Bucky had been trying to rehabilitate from an injured wing, back when they were kids. _“Ma, please, nobody else wants to help it.”_

“How long did you spend online looking up lousy stories ‘bout foster kids?” Sam asked after a long pause.

“Awhile,” Steve admitted and continued softly, “Even if I can get Hill to find her family, she’d have to be in foster care in the meanwhile. And that could be a long time...she’s got no ID, doesn’t remember where she’s from or even a last name.”

“So you wanna keep her,” Sam stated and Steve noticed it was certainly not a question. He was being painfully transparent but the combination of the little girl and how positively she was affecting Bucky had him all wound up in knots.

“At least until we find her family,” Steve replied cautiously.

He heard Sam sigh on the other end of the phone. “Y’know, when the puppy worked out so good for Bucky, I was gonna suggest you get like, some plants. Maybe a fish. Not a kid.”

“She’s the first thing other than me and Marlene I’ve heard him care about since we found him,” Steve said softly, leaning his head back on the couch. “And she’s a smart kid, Sam. If we put her into foster care, she’s gonna bolt and be back on the streets.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. He continued in a more serious tone, “Look, I’m gonna ask you something and I don’t wanna piss off Captain America, so know that I don’t mean it to be a dick.”

Steve didn’t answer right away, instead prepared himself for a hard question. Sam only prefaced hard questions with a warning like that - he knew how hard it was for one of Steve’s friends to offend him. Unless it was Tony Stark.

“Okay?” Steve asked, trying to stifle his trepidation.

“So there’s this thing that happens now...I don’t know if it was a thing back in your ancient times. But people who’re gonna get divorced, sometimes they decide to have a kid instead. And hopin’ a kid will bring you together, or stayin’ with each other for the sake of the kid...doesn’t work out so good, most of the time. So what I’m askin’ is...is _this_ that?”

Steve hesitated despite the urge to rush to disagreement. He valued what Sam said, realized Sam knew him (and Bucky, sometimes), better than he knew himself. Finally he answered, slowly but with a growing heat, “...no. It’s not that. We’re not doin’ great, but we’re not doin’ terrible, either.

And I’m not confusing Ash for Marlene - she’s not a therapy thing. She’s a little girl who’s in a spot that I coulda been in before the army, if it wasn’t for Bucky.

And Christ, Sam. If I can’t take care of one little girl, what right do I have to call myself ‘Captain America?’”

Sam was laughing nearly before Steve was finished. “Yeah, yeah. You got me convinced, man. Talk to Hill when it’s a reasonable hour about findin’ her family and try Natasha, too. I think you’re doin’ the right thing. Which, y’know, big damn surprise, Cap.”

Steve felt like the weight of a helicarrier was lifted for his shoulders. If Sam thought it was okay, then it was most definitely okay. He gave Sam his thanks and they said their goodbyes.

He was just about to write an email to Maria and Natasha when the voice interrupted him.

“I don’t think Captain America is supposed to swear,” Ash said quietly from behind him, a queer tone in her words.

Steve’s eyes went wide and he leapt from the couch, turning to see the girl standing with wide eyes, staring at him in an entirely new light. He must have been _way_ more tired than he realized to not know he’d had an eavesdropper during his conversation with Sam.

“Good, uh, morning,” he said weakly, with an uncomfortable smile. “You’re probably right, but I was talking to a friend of mine.”

“Was it _Iron Man_?” Ash asked timorously. Despite the situation, Steve had to stop himself from breaking out into laughter.

“No, it was...well, Falcon,” Steve answered, which really put his life into perspective.

Ash just stared at him, her slate eyes huge and Steve found himself wondering if she was even younger than he suspected.

“You really _are_ Captain America,” she whispered.

“Yeah,” Steve agreed with a shrug. “I really am. Are you okay with that?”

Ash blinked those big eyes at him and Steve subsided back onto the couch, patting the seat next to him. She slowly joined him, still staring at him like he was...well, like he was Captain America. He couldn’t blame her.

“I...I guess,” she answered uncertainly. But then, more firmly: “I don’t wanna go to a foster home.”

“You were listening to me for awhile, huh?” Steve asked and was quietly amazed to hear his mother’s voice in his own; a little stern but also deeply understanding.

Ash looked away guiltily and shrugged. “Yeah, but you were talkin’ about _me_. If you were gonna call the cops or something I wanted to know.”

She didn’t seem as young any more and Steve didn’t like that. She shouldn’t have had to be so wary and protective. “Okay. You’re right. So let’s talk about what we’re gonna do. Alright?”

Ash nodded, her hands fidgeting with the ragged hem of her t-shirt. “What d’you mean, ‘we?’”

“All of us,” Steve told her with a smile. “Including some of my friends that work with the Avengers. I’m going to ask them to see if we can find your family. They’ll check missing kids reports and some other resources - trust me, they are plenty resourceful. And in the meanwhile, would you be okay staying here?”

“Instead of foster care?” Ash asked carefully, looking like something huge and valuable and breakable had fallen into her lap.

“Yeah,” he answered, reaching over to gently lay his hand on her shoulder. He marveled again at how small she seemed and felt his resolve growing. “Buck and me aren’t gonna let anybody do anything that’s scary or mean or wrong to you, kid. Marlene, too.”

The girl chewed her lip and looked up into his face, as if she could divine the future from his earnest expression. Finally she gave a slow and small smile and patted his hand with her much smaller one.

“Okay. That sounds really good,” she answered, relief obvious in her voice.

Steve’s smile broadened, a part of him just as relieved as Ash.

“Great. Do you wanna help me make breakfast for Bucky, then we can tell him the good news together?”

Ash hopped off the couch and headed for the kitchen like she’d already lived with them for ages. “Yeah! I want eggs. Do you have eggs?”

Steve watched her and realized how right this felt. Forget aliens and Hydra. Forget gods and red-skulled Nazis.

_This_ was what being a hero really felt like.


	7. Interlude (The Side-Effect)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki is really bad at soul searching.

Loki stood in the privacy of his own chambers in his own shape, the glamour illusion removed, and watched America’s guardian and the girl break the shells of eggs into a cooking pan. He studied the scrying portal closely and something queer stirred in his breast.

Was it jealousy? That the girl, this...side-effect, this unintended consequence...was gaining what he himself had lost? Was it longing, to know he’d lost what chances he may ever have had to have such a peaceful time with his own adopted family? Was it contentment, knowing he’d done well by his choice of guardians for the girl and hadn’t left her to the wolves as Laufey once had left him?

Loki misliked ignorance and misliked ignorance of himself the most of all. He’d done what he knew he must. He’d pushed the girl into the path of the two most suitable Midgardians he could think of to care for her. He misliked that the situation was still causing in him emotions he couldn’t control nor understand. Anger flared and he slammed his fist through the portal, which only rippled in a truly unsatisfying manner.

As the vision stabilized, he watched the crippled one enter the chamber wherein the girl and the Captain prepared their meal. The girl spoke animatedly to the crippled one, who then simply looked at the Captain for a long, measuring moment. Loki could appreciate the crippled man - he was quiet and not filled with the scores of untenable _words_ that every other Midgardian he’d ever known would spout at length.

The Captain shrugged and smiled, beckoning the girl back to the hearth. Loki inwardly scoffed at the idea that the girl even required any of their Midgardian fare but knew it was best if she fit into this world where he’d left her. Midgard was safe for the both of them; remote enough that there were few who could recognize what she was. A problem that would do nothing good for Loki nor the girl if the truth was revealed.

He waved away the portal with a snort, frustrated with himself. His problem was solved, why did he care what happened further to the girl, to the little surprise? He had no tie to her, blood or otherwise.

It must have been the similarity of their existences. She was a side-effect and he was a runt. Both left abandoned, though her abandonment was more a judicious use of disguise on Loki’s part - he needed her out of the way and there she was, out of the way and safe.

He turned to the window and gazed over Asgard, its shining towers reflecting prisms in the dawn’s early light. He had a kingdom to worry about, now. A kingdom to _rule_.

The thing he’d always wanted. (Wasn’t it?)

He tried to forget about the girl and ever harder, he tried to forget about why she existed.


	8. Knots and Tangles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sweet domestic bliss usually doesn't involve flashbacks to your own vivisection.

He was not comfortable with the Avengers or their associates, so when Steve went to the Tower to speak with Maria Hill, he stayed back with the girl. Ash was unsurprisingly very interested in the Tower but he and Steve agreed that was too much, too soon, especially when she didn’t even have clean clothing yet.

Steve asked him to do one thing, though, and while he didn’t really _want_ to, he silently admitted it was a good idea with a single nod.

So he found himself texting Natasha Romanov. Usually he liked texting. It was much easier to measure his words, to think about them, to mete them out slowly and carefully. There wasn’t anything to worry about when it came to tone or inflection and he didn’t have to linger in silence when he needed time to reply.

But it was Romanov and he had, to put it lightly, _mixed_ feelings about her.

He knew that he’d shot her once as the Winter Soldier, but he didn’t remember it at all, which made him feel like shit. He figured if he was going to nearly kill somebody, it was at least right to _remember_ doing it. Instead the first thing he remembered about her were only vague recollections from the fight on the bridge, recollections that were always overshadowed by how strange it had felt to know the man under the Captain America mask.

There was something she was holding back, too. Shit, though, that was obvious, of course; Romanov wouldn’t _be_ Romanov if she wasn’t holding back her secrets. But there was something about _him_ that she wasn’t sharing and he wondered constantly if there’d been an exchange program between the Red Room and Hydra. He wondered if he’d known her when he was the asset. If they’d fought together. If he’d killed for her.

She wasn’t sharing, though, and she was, surprisingly, even more stubborn than Steve. When he’d once quietly pointed this out to Steve, the big blond had grinned and told the story of when they’d been trying to shake a Hydra tail at a mall, and she’d kissed him.

He didn’t know how he felt about _that_ , either, or _why_ he felt anything at all about Romanov kissing Steve. Or maybe the problem was that he felt something about _Steve_ being kissed at all.

So he struggled to compose a text to Romanov while Ash played with the dog in the middle of the living room floor, making more noise than their condo had ever heard. Finally he looked up from the screen and studied the girl. She was currently tangled up with the puppy and her long hair had fallen out of the slouchy cap she hadn’t otherwise taken off. It was tangled and dirty, a knotted mess.

“Hey, kid,” he said, setting aside the frustrating text for the moment. “You wanna go get a shower?”

Ash looked up from Marlene and blinked at Bucky with surprise. “A shower...y-yeah. Yeah. A _shower_.” She said it like it was a precious commodity and Bucky thought that it probably was, for her.

He fetched her towels, a washcloth and a shirt of his that would be big enough for the small girl to use as a nightshirt. He showed her how to work the shower, which she watched with rapt attention. She thanked him more than anyone should ever have to thank someone else for something as simple as a shower. He let her know she could lock the door behind him as he left.

He heard the click of the lock and nodded to himself. He knew how important it could be to have the simple ability to lock a door and have space of your own, away from the world. As he finished the text to Romanov, he realized that everything he’d done for Ash - the towels, the shower, the door lock - had been effortless. He’d done it as second nature, practically instinct. It was maybe the easiest thing he’d done in months.

Most things, sometimes _especially_ the simple things, were a struggle since Steve and Sam had found him in that Russian warehouse. He and Steve waged regular battles over meals and eating. There’d been a three day long campaign over whether or not he should cut his hair or at least how often he was washing it. Every morning there was a small skirmish about shaving or at minimal, trimming his facial hair before it got out of control. These were things that people cared about and he knew he wasn’t a person, so why should he bother?

But making sure Ash was taken care of was astoundingly easy. He knew, somehow, what a kid needed; a sandwich, a shower, a puppy to play with. The specifics were easy because he had a pretty good idea how the girl felt; a shower was as rare of a luxury to a street kid as it was to the asset. A door that locked was so much a blessing that she’d probably never even thought about it before - Bucky knew he hadn’t. And it was easy to know that going to the Avengers Tower with everybody asking you questions and looking at you wasn’t something a kid without memories was going to deal well with because he remembered _his_ first (and only) time at the Tower and the two days of anxiety and panic attacks that had followed it.

He’d been finished with the text for awhile when he finally heard the door to the bathroom open. He was off the couch in an instant when he heard another sound behind it: quiet crying. He rushed over faster than he probably needed to and cocked his head to the side when he saw Ash.

She was standing before the steamed up bathroom mirror, Steve’s comb in her hand and in the tangled rat’s nest of her long blonde hair. She kept trying to tug it through only for it to tear at hair and make the mess worse. She was crying, tears dripping onto the oversized shirt of his that she was wearing, long enough to be a dress.

“I _can’t_ \-- I don’t know _how_ \-- it really _hurts_ ,” she whimpered and Bucky immediately went to her. He gently took the comb from her hands with his one and with deft fingers, tugged the knots free of the comb’s hungry teeth.

“Hey, darlin’,” he drawled, looking at her reflection in the mirror, trying hard to make his hoarse voice be as comforting as Steve’s. “It’s okay. I did the same thing. We’ll get it fixed up in a jiffy.”

She blinked up at him, then gave a sniffling giggle, surprised. “W-what’s a jiffy?”

He sighed and shook his head at her. With the one hand he struggled a bit to grab everything they would need, then lead her to the living room.

“It means real fast. Here. Sit facin’ sideways,” he motioned to the couch. She did, wiping at her face. He manouvered so that he sat behind her and his tools were arrayed within easy reach. Marlene rushed over and snuffled at Ash, whining a bit at her distress.

Ash started to rub just behind Marlene’s mismatched ears and her sniffles slowed. Bucky used his shoulder and chin to pop open a bottle of conditioner and poured a generous dollop into his palm.

“What did you mean...that you did the same thing?” Ash asked, her voice quavering a little in the aftermath of her tears.

Bucky started to carefully work the conditioner through the girl’s long, fine hair. He didn’t answer at first, trying to find the words.

Finally he answered in the best way he could think to explain it to a child, “I was in a real bad place for a long time. Didn’t take much good care of myself, so when I came here, with Steve, I didn’t know how to take care of shit like long hair.”

“I thought you were with Steve since you were kids?” Ash asked, doing her best to hold very still while he worked the conditioner through her hair.

“Yeah, but I was away for a long while. You know about how he was sleepin’ for a long time?”

“At the North Pole!” She said excitedly. “I used to like to sneak comics off the newsstand and there was one about him.”

“He used to be in the funnies durin’ the War, too,” Bucky said slowly as his memory gave up images of garish colors and Captain America punching Hitler. He thought he remembered Steve criticizing the art of the comics. He’d redrawn panels, if Bucky had it straight, because he’d hated how they’d drawn the Axis enemies. _“Aw, hell, Buck. They’re the enemy but mostly they’re people, too,”_  he’d protested, frowning harder when Bucky had pointed out they were trying to hunt down a crazy Nazi mad scientist who was missing his face.

“So you...were sleepin’, too?” Ash asked curiously, trying to turn her head to look at him. He lightly adjusted her direction with a cluck of his tongue that sounded far too much like Sarah Rogers for his liking.

“Keep still, darlin’,” he cautioned as he worked the last of the condition into the knotty tangle. “Sorta. Sometimes. I was with some bad people for a real long time, y’see. They…”

He trailed off and realized that not only did he have any words for the girl, that his tongue had frozen in his mouth. His hand froze as well, halfway between her hair and Steve’s comb. The memories he did have were pressing in on the corners of his mind, like dark spots flickering at the edges of vision before passing out. They threatened to surge and overwhelm him. He started to hear a voice, quiet, in his left ear. That would be Zola because his memories always started with the man who’d begun all of this, Arnim Zola.

Soon another voice would start in his right ear, firm and matter-of-fact, without Zola’s maniacal zealotry; that’d be Alexander Pierce. The voices would overwhelm him, berate him, torture him with memory and powerlessness. He felt a cold nose on his frozen hand as Marlene whined and sniffed at him, well-trained to know when he was slipping. He tried to focus on the dog, but Zola’s voice was growing louder, more demanding. _“It all starts here, Sergeant Barnes.”_

Another voice cut through the panic, cut through the voices of his creator and his superior. It was Ash, noticing his pause and maybe aware that something was wrong, but just not _how_ wrong. He tried to scream, to tell her to run, to get away from Zola, from Pierce, from the damned Winter Soldier.

“S’okay,” Ash was saying and there was a part of him that marveled that he could even understand what she was saying while Zola was screaming in his ear, in his _head_. “I knew some kids that ran away from bad people like that. You don’t gotta talk about it.”

Marlene was trying to jump into his lap, her head forcefully nudged under his hand. He managed, just barely, to move his hand, his only hand ( _the metal hand wasn’t there, he wasn’t their fucking hand any more, no more metal whirring and red stars, no more **red**_ ) and set it on the dog’s soft fur. His teeth ground but he focused on Ash’s voice and muttered, “Tell me about them.”

That was all it took to get her talking, a steady stream. He couldn’t tell if she realized if anything was wrong with him or if so, what was wrong with him, but her words helped. Helped by the reassuring weight of the dog in his lap, he was able to use Ash’s energetic voice as a rope to pull himself out of the pit, away from Zola’s maddened description of Bucky’s vivisection, away from the thunder-rumble of Pierce’s promises and threats and praises.

Finally Ash’s voice stopped and he was blinking like the survivor of a mine collapse seeing daylight for the first time in weeks. His hand and jaw ached from clasping and grinding, but his heart was steady and his ears indulged in the silence. He took a shaky breath and with concentrated effort, began carefully pulling the comb through Ash’s tangled hair.

“Are you feeling better now?” Ash asked mildly, reaching behind herself to pat Marlene.

He momentarily kicked himself; of course she had noticed something was very wrong with him. When he and Steve were kids, didn’t they always know when Bucky’s asshole father was drunk and ready to fight? Couldn’t they always tell when Sarah had lost a patient she’d worked hard to save? It’d been so long since he’d been a kid - been a _person_ \- that he’d forgotten what it was like to be aware of what was happening when every adult thought no more of you than a fly on the wall.

“...yeah,” he finally replied, promising to himself that he’d be better. “Thanks, darlin.’”

When Romanov let herself in, she found them in peaceful silence, Marlene curled up on Bucky’s lap, Ash smiling contentedly while Bucky Barnes combed her hair with great care.


	9. Blossom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha's methods of helping are _questionable_ , to say the least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve is busy doing boring things so we're breaking the pattern for the first time and having two Bucky POV chapters in a row. Or you can consider it one big chapter broken into two.
> 
> I may be very wrong about the Russian word for 'flower' or 'blossom' and if I am, my apologies.

Bucky glanced up over Ash’s head to make eye contact briefly with Romanov. He nodded a greeting as he gently worked out the last tangle.

“Hey,” Romanov said neutrally, her eyebrows raised so high they were practically into her hair, which was currently short but curled, different from the last time he’d seen her.

Ash had become still and silent, looking up at the older woman with eyes gone huge. Romanov smiled at her and came into the living room, breaking Steve’s no shoes rule like everybody that wasn’t Steve himself did.

“H...hi,” Ash mumbled, which surprised Bucky - she’d been outgoing when she met him and Steve had said much the same.

“That’s Ro…” Bucky had to pause and correct himself. Introductions weren’t something he was used to, not any more. “Ash, this is Natasha Romanov. Romanov, Ash.”

“I know who she is,” Ash said nervously as Romanov joined them, sitting on the recliner. “You’re _Black Widow_.”

Romanov shrugged carelessly, though she still smiled. “That’s one of the things they call me.”

Ash fidgeted and Bucky was concerned, suddenly. What if she’d heard some of the mudslinging that had gone on after the SHIELD files had leaked? What if he’d brought someone into their home that terrified the girl?

His line of thought was quickly interrupted as Ash mumbled hesitantly, “You...you’re my _favorite_ Avenger!”

Well, shit.

Romanov’s grin broadened and she glanced at Bucky for just a moment, nearly gloating. “ _Am_ I? Well, thank you, Miss Ash.”

Ash waited until Bucky’s hand was away from her hair, then hopped off the couch and rushed over to Romanov, awkwardly sticking her hand out. “You can just call me Ash and I really like how your hair is now,” she said excitedly, her apparent star-struck shyness vanishing quickly.

“I like your hair, too,” Romanov said warmly and shook Ash’s hand firmly, then held it between her’s. “I heard you’re staying with our friends Steve and James for a little while. Do you like it here?”

Ash broke into a tremendous smile. “Uh huh. Steve is _Captain America_ and makes really good eggs. And Marlene is the best puppy ever. And Bucky is really good with my hair but I didn’t know his name was James.”

It was strange to hear either name from the child - ‘James’ or ‘Bucky.’ He spent so long as _the asset_ , as the _Winter Soldier_ , that hearing himself called an actual name for the first few weeks after the warehouse didn’t result in any reaction. A few times Steve had had to walk up to and touch Bucky just to get his attention. Now he was used to Steve using the name almost incessantly, though he just as incessantly felt the distance between himself and that name, ‘James Buchanan Barnes.’

Until now, he’d never identified with it. He couldn’t associate it with himself, never knew who to think of himself as if he couldn’t think of himself as _the asset_. But he realized he’d been thinking of himself as Bucky when he was around Ash. It was easier to be a person around her, because there was no way he could ever let _the asset_ be around a little girl. Especially not this little girl.

“S’my actual first name,” he said quietly, busying his hand with the tools he’d used on her hair. “Bucky’s short for my middle name. Buchanan.”

Ash looked over at him and was giggling. “Bucky’s waaay better than _Buchanan_.” Romanov nodded with agreement and Bucky didn’t think she was ever going to stop smirking, at this rate.

“But you’re just Ash, right?” Romanov asked, attention on the girl again. “Do you think that’s short for Ashley?”

Ash made a face. “Ew, no. It’s just Ash! Like the tree.”

“The tree?” Bucky asked. About the only time his Brooklyn-born ass had learned anything on nature was when he was with the Commandos and quickly discovered that Italy had a poison ivy problem and also _what poison ivy was_. As far as memories went, he wasn’t sure why that one was one of the few to come back.

Romanov looked at him like she wasn’t surprised in the least about his lack of knowledge. “ _Fraxinus_ , the ash tree. Flowers with pretty little white blooms.”

Ash blinked then smiled again, enchanted. “I didn’t know that. Just that there was a tree.”

“They’re as pretty as you are, _tsvetok_ ,” Romanov said softly, touching the girl’s fair hair. Bucky recognized the Russian: _blossom_. “I’m happy that you like it here. I’m going to see what I can find about where you’re from, is that alright?”

“Black Widow is going to try and find out stuff about me?” Ash said, nearly giddy. “Yeah! That’s totally okay! That’s really cool...even if you can’t find anything.”

Romanov cocked her head to the side. She reminded Bucky of a hunting cat, all keen and fixated on the smallest nuance. “Don’t you think that I’ll find something?”

“Maybe,” Ash replied unconvincingly with a shrug. “If somebody was really looking for me, I think they woulda found me by now, right?”

“It isn’t always that straight forward, _tsvetok_ ,” Romanov said softly but with a smile. “There’s as many reasons as there are stars in the sky. But we’ll find out the truth and in the meanwhile, you have Steve, James and Marlene, mmn?”

The puppy looked up at the sound of her name from where she was dozing on Bucky’s lap. He rubbed behind her floppy ear and gave a short nod. “S’right, kid. Now go wash your hair out, alright?”

Ash studied the two of them, then smiled at the reassurance. “Okay.” She paused by Bucky to pat Marlene before returning to the bathroom.

He and Romanov looked at each other in the growing silence. He bowed his head slightly, letting his hair fall over his face and picked up Steve’s comb. There were fair, blonde hairs wound between the teeth.

“This isn’t a good idea,” Romanov stated, immune to the silence he was hoping to shroud himself with in her presence.

“Why not?” he asked hoarsely, his hand gripping the comb a little harder.

“I’m surprised you have to ask,” she answered easily, delicate eyebrows raising again. “You know children need stability and safety. Do you offer either of those?”

“More than livin’ out of a cardboard box,” he snapped.

“And because Steve’s read the internet’s worth of horror stories about foster care, you don’t think that there’s any alternative to the world’s most targetable face and a man who isn’t allowed alone in a room with knives?”

“We wouldn’t let anything happen,” he replied, his voice still terse. “I’m fine.”

Romanov gave a soft chuckle in her throaty voice. “You aren’t fine, James.”

Even he couldn’t keep up that lie for long. “Fuck, alright, _no_ , I’m not fine. But I’m-- I’m better around her.” He didn’t explain further. He didn’t have the words to explain himself to Romanov while he felt anger pulsing in time with his quickened heartbeat. When he looked down, he could see he was bending Steve’s comb in his clenched fist.

“Do you think a child will do well watching you fight with Steve about eating each meal? Do you think a child will understand when you don’t sleep for three days and sit alone in your room for a week? What will she think when you emerge, stinking and unwashed and see how much pain Steve is in?” Romanov demanded, though her voice never raised above its level tone.

He felt a momentary pang of betrayal - Steve must have been talking about him behind his back. Probably unloading his heavy heart to the pretty girl, the good kisser. Was this how Steve was preparing to finally give up on him?

Romanov must have read the expression on his face or maybe seen the betrayal in his eyes. She leaned forward in the recliner and put her hands on her knees. Her voice wasn’t raised, but it was actually emotional, tinged with something thick and deep and he realized she was speaking in Russian. He wasn’t sure how long she’d been speaking it or what language he’d been replying to her in.

“You think that Steve told me these things, James? He did not. He has told any of us precious little about you. He did not need to. _I was you_ , James. When I defected. When I left the Red Room, a broken thing. I did not know how to be a person because they’d taken that from me with their graduation ceremony, their training, their damned _dancing_. You have not allowed yourself to be a person, and how could you let that sweet child be raised by Hydra’s automaton?”

Steve’s comb broke in his fist and he lurched to his feet to face her in a fury. When he spoke, he had to battle to keep his voice below a shout. “I--” he stopped and readjusted, forcing himself to keep to English. “I _ate_ , Romanov. I made us sandwiches, and I fucking _ate_ ‘em. I ate the eggs Ash’n Steve made this morning. I brushed her hair and I had a fucking flashback and _pulled myself outta it_. I been thinkin’ of myself as Bucky fuckin’ Barnes for two days now, because Bucky Barnes knows how to take care of a kid and I _wanna take care of her_ , damn you. So fuck off, _Black Widow_ , I ain’t Hydra’s goddamn robot.”

Romanov stared at him in the now thunderous silence. He realized her intense expression was gone, replaced with an amused smile, faint but most definitely there.

“That’s more like it,” she replied in perfectly calm English. She stood and stretched. “I’ve been wrong before and I wouldn’t mind being wrong about something good, for a change.”

He stared at her, realizing what she’d baited out of him. His momentary anger faded as he saw how thoroughly he’d been played. “...you’re pretty good,” he admitted grudgingly as he felt his heart slow back to a normal pace.

“Mmmhmm,” she agreed, definitely amused. “Tell little _tsvetok_ that I said goodbye. I’m going to get to work on finding her people.”

He felt deflated, like a kid’s slow leaking balloon at Coney Island. ”Yeah,” he agreed faintly.

She went for the door, but paused before she opened it. She looked over her shoulder. “Remember all of that, James. I’d really rather not have to remind you again.”

Then Natasha Romanov was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even if the Scarlet Witch were an Avenger when this fic takes place, Black Widow would still be Ash's favorite Avenger. 
> 
> Also, thanks everybody so much for reading and giving kind words. Feedback is really helping me build my confidence back up in regards to writing fanfic so I can't tell you how much I appreciate it!


	10. Walls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just because Natasha was right doesn't make it _easy_.
> 
> Alternatively: Steve really used to be better at handling surprises.

Steve left the meeting with Maria Hill feeling better about their chances of finding Ash’s family and worse about the methods that would be used. When he thought about the use of facial recognition and DNA identification it felt a little too close to the targeting side of Project Insight. He figured it was time to talk to Tony about the lines that the Avengers needed to draw for themselves; protection at the cost of civil liberty was Hydra’s PR line, not theirs.  
  
Pepper Potts stopped him down the hall from Hill’s office and he had to pull his thoughts away from preparation for a conversation that he really didn’t care to have with Tony.

“Good afternoon, Steven,” Pepper greeted him warmly. He had told her dozens of times to call him Steve, but she was just about the only person who never did. Pepper always kept her friendly but professional demeanor like armor. He quietly liked it; Pepper reminded him strongly of Peggy sometimes. Peggy was also one to keep to formal habits in the middle of giant cluster-fucks: he remembered having afternoon tea with her, once, while they and the rest of the Commandos were huddled in a bunker undergoing heavy bombing with the ceiling over their heads cracking. They’d needed to use one hand to shield their teacups from falling debris, but Peggy was iron, was steel, was vibranium: _“We will have our tea, damn them. Now put down the shield and bring the sugar over, thank you.”_

 “Good--” he started to say ‘morning,’ but glanced out one of the floor-to-ceiling glass windows the hall was lined in. He’d been in with Hill discussing the girl for longer than he realized. “...afternoon,” he finished with a grin and admitted, “Time got away from me, I guess.”

That was a hell of a way to put it.

"That’s fine,” Pepper waved him off. “I heard that you had an important topic to discuss.”

“How did you…?” Steve was surprised, he hadn’t talked to anyone and he knew Bucky hadn’t-- wait. “...for one of the world’s best operatives, Natasha can’t keep anything quiet,” he sighed.

“Well, I think she can keep _some_ things to herself,” Pepper laughed and tucked a bit of hair behind her ear. “I don’t think she believes that a little girl is top secret.”

“I guess not,” Steve agreed and rubbed the back of his head. “Her name’s Ash. The little girl, I mean.”

“Nat said she’s pretty dear,” Pepper said, her eyes bright. “Would it be okay if Nat and I took her shopping?”

“Shopping…?” Steve asked, his brain skidding to a halt. He knew Ash needed clothes, but it took Pepper’s question for him to realize he knew nothing about shopping for clothing for an 11 year old girl. “YES. I mean. _Yes_. Yeah. That’d be good. Really good.”

Pepper grinned like maybe she’d guessed exactly what the problem was. “I know this is a temporary situation, but maybe you and Mr. Barnes would like to come along? Pick up a few ideas?”

Steve stared at Pepper in silence as he tried to picture the situation. The Winter Soldier and Captain America in a little girls’ clothing store. Bucky with one arm and no words, Steve all awkward and probably more than a little embarrassed. “I’ll, uh, talk to Buck about it tonight,” Steve promised, completely at a loss as to how that conversation would go, if it even went at all.

“That sounds great,” Pepper replied. “I’ll send a car tomorrow morning.” She was already making quick notes on the Starkpad™ that Steve couldn’t remember seeing out of her hand for the last six months.

“Okay. Thanks, Pepper,” Steve said with an exhale. “Really, thank you. This isn’t exactly what I trained for.”

“Oh Steven,” Pepper laughed again, looking up at him with warm eyes. “I don’t think there’s any training for something like this.”

She was right and that was more than a little terrifying.

* * *

For the first time in his life when Steve came home dinner was waiting for him.

Sarah Rogers was a hard working woman. Most of the sacrifices she made for her son, Steve never really saw. She’d lie and say she ate at the hospital when in fact they didn’t have the money for both of them to eat and she knew if he was under-fed, he’d get even sicker. He never saw how many times she patched her own clothing, how worn the bottom of her shoes were, how when there weren’t enough hours for nurses, she’d moonlight doing janitorial work at the hospital.

Steve didn’t figure out most of her sacrifices until after she’d passed away, between sorting out what little she had to her name and speaking with those who’d known her. But there was one sacrifice she made that he did everything he could to lessen the sting of for her: she was never able to make them dinner.

He remembered her talking about the huge family meals that they’d had when she was a girl in Ireland; her lovely accent would wax nostalgic about the food her mother and sisters and she made. She hated that she worked hours too long to provide the same for Steve, but Steve promised that he loved cooking for her.

And he did. He didn’t care that it wasn’t ‘man’s work’ - it made her happy and it made her proud. That’s all he gave a damn about, that and the fact that she didn’t have to stand on her feet for another hour after 12 hours futility trying to keep tuberculosis patients alive. It was how he felt when he started cooking for Bucky when they lived together. He knew he couldn’t do much, so what he did, he did as well as he possibly could. So for most of his life he’d been the one cooking.

After spending most of the day at the Avengers Tower, he opened the door of the condo to smell the scent of cooking food. He nearly turned around and walked right back out because he must have gotten the wrong home.

But Ash ran to meet him with Marlene on her heels. He smiled to recognize her wearing one of Bucky’s shirts, the soft kind with the buttons from throat to chest that he favored. Her hair was loose instead of tucked under a hat for the first time he’d seen, and it was very long and fine, fairer than Steve’s own. It looked freshly washed and she looked cleaner all around.

“Hi, kid. You look ni--” he began, starting to kick off his boots, but the girl interrupted him excitedly.

“I met BLACK WIDOW today and Bucky fixed my hair and she was really nice and called me something Russian and we made _dinner_ ,” she said without a breath, which struck Steve as a superpower all its own.

He grinned widely and got his boots off. “Sounds like a busy day.”

Ash nodded as Marlene excitedly ran in a circle around her. Steve was used to the puppy running to greet him but he was pretty sure he could adjust to Ash joining her. It was...nice. Really nice. Homely, which he hadn’t felt since...he wasn’t sure when. Before Bucky enlisted, maybe.

“Yeah,” Ash replied, a little more reserved. He noticed she had moments of childlike joy and enthusiasm, then forced herself to calm down. Cooled, maybe, trying to be more mature? Her situation made her grow up faster than most kids, after all, and from what he’d seen, 11 years old was much different in 2015 than it was in 1929, when he’d been her age.

He followed Ash, Marlene and his nose back towards the kitchen. When he stepped in, it was just in time to see Bucky turn to face him, and his world went white for a moment. Bucky was standing before the stove, and as he turned, all Steve saw was the mass of red splattered across the apron he was wearing. He looked a little harried, with his hair hastily tugged back into a loose tail, and he held a red dripping spoon in one hand.

When he saw Steve looking at him with wide, frightened eyes, he made perfect eye contact, reached down to a splash of red, ran his finger through it, and sucked it clean.

“Tomato soup,” Bucky said simply with just the hint of a raised eyebrow.

“ _Oh_ ,” Steve replied, feeling faint for an _entirely_ different reason.

“And grilled cheese and I guess carrots or celery or whatever,” Ash added, completely missing how Steve had gone white but was now turning crimson enough to match the tomato splattered on Bucky’s apron.

“Both, darlin’,” Bucky replied and turned back to stir the soup.

“Bleh,” was Ash’s eloquent reply before she went to go set the table. Steve was left stranded in the middle of the kitchen, trying to process this entire series of events.

* * *

Dinner was a success despite (or maybe because of) its simplicity. Steve did his best not to be overly enthusiastic about the cooking or the fact that there was cooking OR how Bucky ate the entire meal at a reasonable pace without a single complaint. Ash complained more about the vegetables, but between Steve’s _Uncle Sam would want you to eat your vegetables_ face and Bucky’s _Do you always wanna be a squirt, kid?_ stare they managed to get her to eat all of them.

Much more successful was when Steve relayed Pepper’s invitation to take Ash clothing shopping the next day. The girl’s eyes had gone wide and she’d silently nodded her agreement, looking more than a little overwhelmed. When Steve mentioned Natasha would be joining them, Ash looked like she might cry, but she shoved a stick of celery in her mouth and nodded energetically in agreement. 

The day was a long one for all of them, so by dessert (store bought cookies and milk, which despite the fact that Ash asked _very_ politely, they refused to let her have more than five), the girl was blinking sleepily. Steve led her to the guest room and Bucky trailed behind them. After Steve got her set up with extra blankets and pillows, Bucky quietly showed her the lock on the door, which made Steve raise his eyebrows, but he didn’t interrupt. Ash drowsily told them both goodnight and looked asleep before they even had the door closed behind them. 

Steve dropped onto the couch with a long exhale; he was feeling the lack of sleep the night before. Bucky sat down on the recliner and didn’t look at Steve, but he did, surprisingly, break their usual silence, though he sounded a little awkward doing so. The awkwardness pained Steve; he remembered a time when they said almost anything to one another without hesitation or concern. But he understood it, knew Bucky himself didn’t remember those times.

“Privacy’s important, when you’ve never had it,” Bucky said quietly, rolling his shoulder. Steve noticed he did that often - he wondered if phantom arm syndrome pained him.

“Oh, the lock?” Steve asked with a blink. “I didn’t...I mean, it’s okay. I just…”

“You don’t think about when you got it,” Bucky expanded, waving his hand. “But havin’ that kind of…”

“...agency?” Steve finished for him, softly, when Bucky trailed off. The other man nodded silently. Steve returned the nod, slowly, considering the statement. “Yeah. Okay. I got you, pal.”

Bucky didn’t say anything in reply, but Steve wasn’t expecting him to. He rubbed his eyes and realized that his head was spinning. He wasn’t feeling overwhelmed, not this time, which was nice, because he felt overwhelmed and exhausted most of the time. Instead he felt exhausted and...content. Which was new, and surprising and...kinda wonderful.

Bucky stood abruptly and started for his room, which Steve didn’t find surprising. When it grew late and he was tired, Bucky often grew even quieter and left whatever room he was in for his bedroom quickly and suddenly. Steve looked up and gave him a smile.

“Good ni--” he began, and was shocked into silence when Bucky interrupted him.

“When I get tired, everything gets harder t’keep together,” Bucky started haltingly, carefully not looking at Steve. ”I usually shut it out alright. But the walls start comin’ down at night. Don’t like it. Don’t like what it can do.”

Steve stared at him. This was the most Bucky had ever said to him about what was happening in his mind. If he shared, ever, it was in private with Sam, and never any other time.

“You don’t haveta explain yourself to me, pal,” Steve finally said, quietly, trying not to be overbearing, as hard as he wanted to get up and embrace his friend. Finally Bucky looked up at him, making eye contact.

“I know I don’t have to,” Bucky said, not exactly affectionately, but there was something in the way he was staring at Steve, something almost gentle. “But sometimes I oughta.”

“It’s not gonna scare me off. I’m here ‘til the end of the line, Buck,” Steve replied, still soft but very firm.

The hollow-eyed man stared at him from under hanging, long bangs. His voice wasn’t above a whisper when he replied, and it sounded like a struggle to say. “Yeah. I think I’m finally understandin’ that.”

He was gone, door to his room closing, before Steve could even stand up.


	11. Shopping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes it's just too much. Steve gets that.

The next morning, the car Pepper sent took Ash, Steve and Bucky (with Marlene on a neat leash)  to meet Ms. Potts (as Steve carefully introduced her) and Natasha at a restaurant for breakfast.

Ash had loved it, though she wasn’t exactly sure how everything worked. She had a vague idea of how a sit-down restaurant worked, but couldn’t remember eating anywhere but cheap fast food joints. Ms. Potts noted her quiet curiosity without a word and the next thing Ash knew, Ms. Potts was taking her through the kitchen, showing Ash how the chefs worked to prepare their food. This immediately made her Ash’s second favorite Avenger, just behind Natasha. Ms. Potts totally counted as an Avenger.

With breakfast sitting well in her stomach, Ash was feeling good as they went to go shopping, but as soon as they stepped into the children’s boutique, she nearly fell apart.

Ash had walked past this store more times than she could count as she made her way from safer places to sleep to less safe places that were better for scraping together money during the day. She’d glanced at the clothing in the window and wished she had something that fit, something that didn’t look so dingy, something that made her look like the other kids she saw walking around with their parents or siblings or friends. She tried hard not to wish after awhile because wishing hurt in the knowing that wishes didn’t come true.

But now here she was, with store employees sucking up like crazy to Ms. Potts, with Natasha suggesting clothing for HER, with Steve and Bucky looking totally out of place but also like they were maybe actually enjoying themselves. Which was nice, ‘cos they didn’t do that too much that Ash had noticed, so far.

Her wish had come true way better than she had ever expected could be possible, and it was just _too much_. She was certain this was just a really good dream she was going to wake up from, sore from sleeping curled up and hidden, itchy from her dirty clothing, scared of what the day would bring. She wasn’t at all used to waking up like she had this morning - clean and comfortable, looking forward to something.

She had things to _look forward to_. That couldn’t be right. None of it could be right.

She didn’t know where to start - Ms. Potts had told her to grab anything that she liked to try on, but Ash didn’t know what she liked. She’d gotten clothing before by whatever was super cheap at Goodwill, or if she found it and it wasn’t too gross.

It was Steve who found her first; she’d wandered off easily enough as everyone else was distracted by trying really hard not to laugh at Bucky scowling awkwardly at pastel baby clothes and toys in one corner while Marlene sat patiently at his side, wearing her helper dog vest. Ash was used to being unnoticed, it was her best skill, her most useful skill, the one she’d worked harder on than even making her hands fast at the cup game or learning how to talk people into doing silly things with their money.

Ash curled herself behind a fixture of socks. She’d lost it when she’d seen them; she didn’t even know there were socks just for kids! Much less just for girls, much less in every color she’d ever seen and THEN some. Plus patterns and pictures and designs. She was crying quietly as she could, her hands pressed up to her face. She _hated_ crying. Little kids cried and she was _not_ a little kid, because little kids were targets. She’d learned to cover her face when crying, to cup her hands so that her gasps for air weren’t as loud, so her snotty nose and soaked cheeks weren’t so obvious.

As she tried to push the tears back into her eyes and keep quiet, she felt a large hand descend gently onto her shoulder.

“Hey, kid,” Steve said softly and she peered at him just a bit through her fingers. He was crouched down next to her but still a head taller and his face was shadowed with worry. She sniffled and hated how it sounded, hated how loud it was.

“‘m okay,” she muttered, ducking her head down again.

“It’s alright to say you aren’t okay,” Steve said, rubbing her shoulder gently. It was nice, even though his hand was so big, because she liked how BIG he was, how solid. Like maybe he wasn’t gonna go away.

“No, it’s not,” Ash argued, trying not to gulp her breaths. “Nobody wants a kid that cries and whines all the time.”

Steve exhaled slowly and sat down next to her, bracing his back on the large display of socks. He tilted his head slightly towards her and she thought he seemed a little bit like Marlene, just much, much bigger. And not a puppy.

“We’re not gonna send you off somewhere if you cry or whine or for any other reason, Ash,” Steve said, his voice still soft but really firm now, more serious than she’d heard him before. “I promise. We want _you_ , even when you aren’t feeling okay.”

She slowly lowered her hands, using the backs of them to wipe at her cheeks and nose. She looked at him closely, trying to figure out if this was another grown up trick. But it couldn’t be, because Steve was _Captain America_ and Captain America didn’t lie or trick or break his promises. She nodded slowly and believed him.

“I don’t think I should be here,” she finally confessed, glancing around the store. “It’s too...nice. And everything is so much money. And I’ve been wearin’ the same t-shirt for like TWO WHOLE MONTHS.”

Steve slid his arm around her waist and gave her a gentle hug. It was nice - he didn’t try to grab her or pull her or even put both arms around her. It was just nice and comforting and she kind of wanted him to do it again.

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “It’s scary when you walk in somewhere and there’s all this stuff you _thought_ you knew, but it’s...maybe not what you thought it was. And you don’t feel like you’re supposed to be there, because it’s so different from what you knew before.”

Ash blinked at him, astonished that he got it.. “Y-yeah. That’s exactly...how’d you know?”

He shrugged and glanced around the store much like she had before. “I was in the ice for a really long time. When I came back, everything was different. So I feel like that a lot of the time. Everything is so different...clothes and music and just about anything else you can think of. And all the people I knew, they’re pretty much all gone.”

Ash stared at him and felt like she wanted to cry again, but for a whole different reason this time. He did understand, ‘cos it was the same for him, only way worse. Sure he was big and strong and _Captain America_ , but he was also asleep for so long that everything he knew was gone. Everything, except…”

“Except Bucky?” she asked, hopefully. She was forgetting her fears because she didn’t like seeing Steve sad.

Steve smiled and ruffled her hair lightly. She liked that he or Bucky could do that now, or that Natasha could gently touch it, without anybody getting dirty, or stuck in tangles. It was maybe the best part of meeting Steve and Bucky. Except that Marlene was great, too, and so was Natasha and Ms. Potts was really nice and Steve made awesome eggs and Bucky’s grilled cheese was _pretty_ good.

“Except Bucky,” he agreed. “And a lady you’d like very much, her name’s Peggy. And, y’know…” He motioned towards where they could hear Natasha and Ms. Potts laughing at something Bucky had grumbled. “There’s lots of new people. New things are overwhelming and sorta scary, but they’re usually pretty good.”

Ash thought about this for a little while. She nodded slowly and added, “And just ‘cos you didn’t have it before, doesn’t mean you can’t have it now. Right?”

She thought she’d said something wrong at first, with the way Steve’s eyes went wide, like she’d surprised him. His mouth moved wordlessly, then he shook his head hard and gave Ash a broad smile, bigger than she’d ever seen before on maybe ANYBODY. “Right! Yeah, that’s it exactly.”

He stood and offered her his hand, which Ash took quickly. She didn’t even think about stealing his wallet this time. She felt bad that she stole his wallet and anybody else’s. If she was gonna stay with Steve - with Captain America - for awhile, she was going to make sure she didn't do anything bad like that again. It was a nice realization to know she wouldn't _have_ to. Steve walked her back towards the others, where Natasha and Ms. Potts were waiting with an armful of clothing each. Even Bucky was holding a pair of shoes for her to try on.

Steve kept smiling that big smile, but Ash noticed his eyes were on Bucky and nobody else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the surprise POV switch! The fic is going to remain primarily Bucky and Steve's POVs, but every now and again it's nice to look in on them from someone else's perspective.


	12. Interlude II (Three Months)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like it must, time passes.

_Month One, Week 2_

Tony Stark had no idea how to act around children, though he claimed to like them. His idea of affection was to send Ash home with five crisp $100 bills. This led Steve to teach both Ash _and_ Bucky how to open a bank account.

Ash never touched it. Steve worried his lecture about the Depression had sunk in just a little too much.

_Month One, Week 3_

Bruce spent an hour with Ash, teaching her how to use the cellphone Natasha had gotten her. By the end of the day she was roughly 300% better with it than Steve or Bucky. Her phone was filled with pictures of the Avengers and Marlene.

_Month One, Week 4_

Nobody (except Natasha), understood how Clint Barton got along so well with a child. Steve assumed, watching them hang from the rafters of the gym together, that maybe it was because Clint had never actually grown up.

_Month Two, Week 1_

Sam’s visit was a pleasant surprise for everybody but Bucky, who knew this meant he should probably have a therapy session, or as close to one as he was going to allow. Thankfully, Sam Wilson, despite his code name and aerial skills, was pretty much completely unflappable.

_Month Two, Week 2_

The first time Ash didn’t sleep at Bucky and Steve’s was for a “girls’ night sleepover” with Natasha. Steve was happy and incredibly grateful that Natasha and the young girl got along so well, but neither he nor Bucky slept at all that night. When Ash came back the next morning, it didn’t look like she had, either.

_Month Two, Week 3_

Bucky remembered, two days before, what the 4th of July met. Not only to the nation, but to Steve. Or maybe that _was_ to the nation? Or maybe there just wasn't much of a difference, at this point. Bucky learned baking a cake with one hand was remarkably difficult, but Ash helped and they managed to even make red, white and blue icing.

_Month Two, Week 4_

Marlene’s floppy left ear _finally_ stood up to match her right ear. They celebrated with ice cream and this time Steve baked a cake for Ash and Bucky. Quietly, Ash and Bucky agreed that Steve’s cake was _much_ better.

_Month Three, Week 1_

Bucky started saying goodnight. Ash started to sleep with her door open. Steve started sleeping through the night.

_Month Three, Week 2_

It wasn’t that Ash needed babysitting, especially not with Marlene, but when Steve and Bucky were needed to identify a potential Hydra base in the Ukraine, Nat offered to stay with the girl.

Bucky, who didn’t need any more stress, was relieved and Steve was relieved that Bucky was relieved, so neither refused her offer.

That relief vanished when they came home and found Ash with pink hair.

_Month Three, Week 3_

Even though it was just Kool-Aid, it took a week to wash out. Natasha never apologized and remained Ash’s favorite Avenger.

_Month Three, Week 4_

Thor took a break from traveling with Jane Foster to help out with the Hydra base in the Ukraine, where he hoped to find his brother’s staff. He came back to New York with the rest of the Avengers (but no staff) and met the young girl.

They got along well, though Ash was uncharacteristically reserved. Steve figured it was due to meeting an alien (or god, however you wanted to spin it). He couldn’t really blame her, though he wished she would smile more when Thor was around instead of looking so shy.

Thor kept thinking the girl’s slate-blue eyes were terribly familiar, but just couldn’t figure out where he’d seen them before, if he even had.

He quickly forgot about it when Ash and Natasha gifted him a box of Pop-tarts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was _ridiculously_ fun to write.
> 
> The bit with Tony was taken from some real life inspiration. My dad was a biker, an old school Harley Davidson rider. He'd often take me to parties and bars with him. His biker friends had no idea what to do with a little girl (even though they thought I was cute and couldn't say so), and so toddler-me would come home with money, every time.


End file.
